Sins of the Father
by stained17
Summary: "As she entered the darkened room, her heart stuttered with the sound of the door thudding closed. There was no going back now." Her life, her future, is held in his hands. With the simplest of movements, her life could be over. Will the debts owed be too much, or will he make an exception for the sinner in red? Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**SINS OF THE FATHER**

**Chapter One**

Red.

Blood red.

That was the color that adorned plump lips. Blood red lips to match the skin tight dress she'd found hidden in the back of her closet. Her nails were perfectly manicured, crisp and the color of crimson.

Every head turned to her as she sauntered through the crowded lounge. On a typical night, she wouldn't be caught dead in her current ensemble, and she certainly wouldn't be frequenting a locale such as this.

Desperate times…

Taking no notice of the eyes that followed her, she flipped her hair off her shoulder, held her head high, and continued to strut after the man leading her to her destination. If she was going down, she may as well look the part – sin incarnate.

The man led her down a long hallway, removed from the noise and chatter of the crowded lounge. He stopped almost abruptly in front of a dark, heavy door meant to keep everyone out. Knocking with three swift raps, he uttered something quietly and the door was pulled open from the inside. Stepping back, he gestured her forward to the dark room with his hand outstretched and his head bowed down.

It wouldn't do to hesitate. Swallowing and inhaling a short breath, she took her first step towards the room, towards an uncertain future, telling herself that no one could know her confidence was faked. For no matter what laid before her, she knew that she could never go back to the life she lived before.

As she entered the darkened room, her heart stuttered with the sound of the door thudding closed. There was no going back now.

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><p><strong>AN: Comments are welcomed and though I know it's only the beginning, I would love to hear what you think. :)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**SINS OF THE FATHER**

**Chapter Two**

There were few things I could remember of my mother. The sound of her voice singing me to sleep when I was five and sick with pneumonia, the comforting hug she'd give that made me feel so secure and safe, and the faint smell of her Yves Saint Laurent Opium perfume, a scent I would forever associate with my beautiful mother.

Unfortunately, there were too many things I'd forgotten of her, like the sound of her laugh. It pained me that I didn't have more of her. All that was left were a few pieces of her favorite jewelry and a framed photo of her cuddling me as a three year old.

If there's one thing that could be said of my father, though, it'd be that at least he wasn't a hoarder. After my mother's untimely death when I was six, he'd purged the house of her things. Her clothes, her half filled bottle of perfume, her shampoo in the shower, all gone. It's like he thought if her things were gone, it would be as if she was never there, and therefore we couldn't miss her. After all, you can't miss what you never had, right?

Growing up without my mother was difficult. My father was… difficult. He'd held himself together for a few days after her death, long enough to make funeral arrangements and to accommodate the people who flooded the house to say their final goodbye to my mother. After that, though, he fell to pieces. He'd drink himself into an oblivion in an attempt to forget his loss.

What he ended up forgetting about was me.

I don't even think I could put a number on the amount of times I'd had to walk home from school because he forgot to pick me up, or the number of times I'd had to make myself dinner.

When my father's bereavement leave was over at work, he could barely bring himself to function, let alone manage a police department, small as it was.

He soon was drinking not only at home, but on the job as well. When others found out, he was advised if he didn't stop, he'd be let go of. He was also reminded that he had a young daughter at home, a young daughter who'd just lost her mother and surely needed the love and guidance of her father.

Not a two days later and my father put in his resignation notice.

I guess I just wasn't enough and the promise of a bottle of vodka and the relief it'd bring, however temporary, was better than anything else.

With little money coming in due to my father's lack of job and his addiction to the bottle, we'd had to sell the house my mother'd made a home and move into a rundown, beat up apartment in a less than stellar part of town.

The faucets leaked, the wallpaper was peeling, it was always cold, and the rancid smell never left, no matter how many windows were left open.

Instead of the crickets lulling me to sleep, the sound of shattering glass and shouting matches from the surrounding neighbors had me cowering under my scratchy sheets, praying that my mom swoop down from heaven and take me with her.

My prayers went unanswered.

Somehow, I'd made it to school and continued my education. I learned to fend for myself, count on no one but myself. No one would look out for me but me.

I think I was in ninth grade when my father's addiction became worse. I didn't think it was possible, but I suppose life likes to laugh at me.

My father had made friends with the unsavory people of the apartment, particularly the heroin addicts. Soon, my father was convinced that heroin would solve all of his problems. It would make him feel better, would actually make him feel _better_ than better. All he had to do was shoot up just a little and he'd be higher than a kite. Best of all, he'd been told, was that it would actually _save_ him money, because heroin was way cheaper than liquor.

Funny how he went from enforcing the law and looking down on those who did drugs to becoming one of them.

The monthly payments my father had been receiving were soon spent on his next hit. And slowly, he'd need more and more to get him to his precious peak. Soon, he stopped going through his friend and went directly to the source for more. The house became unbearable.

By this time, I'd been in my senior year of high school, determined to graduate and get the fuck out of that shithole. I'd long had a job at a local diner to pay for my things. God knows I couldn't rely on my father to support me. I bought groceries and locked them in my room, went to the laundromat weekly to wash the handful of clothes I had, and saved a little from every paycheck and hid it in a sock that I carried everywhere. I supported myself.

Unlike most high school students, I had no celebration of my achievements in graduating. I didn't even get any acknowledgement. And I'd been so focused on my studies and getting out that I failed to see the hole my father was digging. Though I'm sure that even if I did, I wouldn't have given a shit. After all, I was leaving and he could fend for himself, just like he'd left me to do.

As soon as I had my diploma in hand, I'd left the dump that I'd lived in for years and moved in with a friend I'd met working at the diner, closer to my waitressing job.

Tanya was, well, a bit of a slut. I liked her and didn't judge her, but she was definitely a little bit… loose. Tanya's childhood was similar to mine and at the ripe age of fourteen, found comfort in a boy's bed. A twenty-two year old boy's bed.

From then on, Tanya bounced around older guy's beds. She learned the power of seduction and equated sex with power. Though it always seemed to me that the men had all the power. For all Tanya's insistence that I meet her men's friends and follow her, I'd somehow managed to remain a virgin. It didn't bother me, but seemed to irk Tanya.

It was just as well that I'd left Tanya's apartment.

I'd already given my boss at the diner my two week's notice and had enrolled in classes at the University of Chicago. Tanya was staying with a wealthy businessman that she'd been leeching off of. She'd been avoiding a past "gentlemanly caller" as she liked to call them, because he liked to use his fists on her for fun. Tanya had enough sense to drop him, but he'd taken to knocking on our apartment door at all hours of the day and night and would leave threatening notes in the mailbox. Another reason to be glad I left.

And so here I was. In my new apartment. All alone. Free.

I'd finished unpacking and had just sat down on the used loveseat I purchased from a resale shop and flipped open a battered book.

So it was odd when I'd heard a knock on my door at seven in the evening. The only person who knew I was here was Tanya, who was currently living the high life, for now anyway, in Maui.

Setting my book down on the coffee table, I made the walk to my front door. Little did I know that the minute that I would open the door, my life would be forever changed.

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><p><strong>AN: Eeek! Sorry to leave it at a bit of a cliffhanger, but it was the best place to end it. I'll be updating as soon as I can and will hopefully do so once every week.<strong>

**Also, if there are any grammar mistakes, please note that I typed this at like the crack of dawn after seeing the dentist (I am terrified of the dentist and that horrid drill). I also might have been a bit loopy from the medicine she gave me... so please forgive me! **

**Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts so far! Comments are welcomed and very much appreciated! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**SINS OF THE FATHER**

**Chapter Three**

After a day full of unpacking, I was really not looking forward to entertaining the new neighbor that I was sure was at the door.

In a new area full of young couples and students, I figured that I would go pretty much unnoticed. I suppose that one of the neighbors that had seen me move in decided they needed to be friendly and say hello.

Gathering a large breath as I reached the door, I unlatched the deadbolt and reminded myself I'd have to get a chain since this door didn't have a peephole.

Swinging the door wide and plastering a smile, albeit fake and forced, onto my face, I prepared myself to greet the intruder of my quiet evening.

Well, shit.

Color me shocked to see two uniformed police officers standing at my door. One big, gruff, attractive guy with two days worth of stubble and one guy who looked like he was fresh out of high school. Pimples and all.

The fake smile dropped from my face and confusion replaced it.

"Ms. Isabella Swan?" the big one questioned.

"Yes, that's me."

"My name is Officer Tyler Malone and this is my partner Officer Ben McMullen. Would it be possible for us to come in? We have some very important information for you, and I'm sure you don't want an audience for this."

I'd been so shocked I didn't notice that the neighbors across from me were peeking out their windows to see what was going on.

"By all means, please," I swallowed. Shaking off the shock, I moved back from the door and allowed the officers in.

The pimply one, Officer McMullen looked around the apartment, taking note of the few scattered boxes.

"Why don't we sit in the living room. I don't have a kitchen table yet."

"Of course, ma'am," Officer Malone placated.

Sitting on the chair next to the couch, I watched the officers sit down side by side on the loveseat. Just a few moments ago, before these men popped into my life, the couch seemed almost welcoming and homey, even though it was a bit threadbare and old. Now, it just looked small and pathetic with the two officers sitting cramped next to each other.

Clearing his throat, Officer Malone successfully pulled me from my thoughts.

"Ms. Swan -" he started.

"Isabella, please."

"Yes, Isabella." he began again. "I do apologize for interrupting your evening, as it looks like you've just sat down." He indicated to the book. "Unfortunately we have some bad news for you."

Looking between the two officers, I noted that Officer McMullen had a pitying look on his face.

"This morning, sometime between the hours of ten and noon, your father, Charlie Swan, died."

"Charlie?" I questioned hoarsely. Shaking my head and swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat, I asked how. "How did he die?"

The officers shared a glance and this time Officer McMullen answered.

"It seems that your father overdosed on heroin. He was found with a small amount on his person and there were a multitude of needles scattered throughout the room as well."

"Were you aware that your father was a heroin addict?" Officer Malone asked intently.

"Was I aware? Pretty hard to not be aware. He didn't make it a big secret."

"When was the last time you saw your father?" Officer McMullen intoned sympathetically.

I blew out a heavy breath and linked my hands on my lap. "Five years? Give or take a few months." Seeing the shock in the officers eyes, I explained. "I moved out when I was eighteen as soon as I graduated high school. As I mentioned, he didn't hide his heroin addiction. I took care of myself and moved out as soon as I could. My father and I weren't close."

Officer Malone seemed to be thinking and adjusted himself on the couch, scooting a bit closer to me when I bowed my head. "I apologize if this is a bit sensitive, but we're just trying to get all the information we can." I nodded in understanding. "Is your mother around? Is there someone would may have had problems or a grudge against your father?"

At the last question, my head snapped up from where I was looking at my fingers and I squinted my eyes, gauging Officer Malone. "A grudge? Problems? I thought he died of an overdose. The questions you're asking seem like you think otherwise. As for my mother, she died when I was six. We have no other family. My grandparents died before I was born and my parents were both only children."

"I apologize if our questions seem odd," Officer McMullen said. "Like Officer Malone advised, we just want to get all the facts straight. We did notice a few… inconsistencies that we would like to check. As of now, it's not been ruled a homicide, but there are some odd circumstances to your father's death."

"Odd? Like what? He was a drug addict, an alcoholic, and truthfully a horrible father. He stopped caring after my mother died and only concerned himself with scoring his next hit. He obviously took more than he should have and overdosed. Most daughters, I'm sure, would probably be crying and upset, but Charlie and I have been strangers for years."

Nodding his head, Officer Malone seemed to be mulling over his answer. "I understand. And I'm very sorry for your losses and struggle. If it's any consolation, you seem to have done well for yourself despite all those obstacles. That being said, there were some things that made us question the overdose and your father's death. We noticed that the door had been busted open and a few items were missing.

"Specifically, we found a picture frame that had been smashed with the picture torn out. We also found that the doorknob was wiped clean of any prints. Which seems a bit odd if your father simply overdosed. There should be some prints left behind on the doorknob, from at least him."

Struggling to maintain my composure, I stood and paced in front of the coffee table. This was absolutely absurd. My father, killed? No. They had to be mistaken.

"This doesn't make any sense. I mean, I'll be honest, I am not the best person to go to on Charlie's friends or enemies, his hobbies or lack there of. In the years that I lived with him, we didn't speak and we didn't share personal information. I only know that every once in a while, he seemed to want company while he got fucked up, and he did drugs with some neighbor on the second floor. Billy, I think. Though that could have changed since I left." I slumped back into the chair, exhausted.

"I just… I don't know. I have no clue."

Seeming to sense that I didn't have much more to offer, the officers gathered themselves to rise and leave.

"Again," Officer Malone began, and placed a hand on my knee, "I'm - we're - so very sorry for your loss. Here's my card. If you can think of anything else that may be of interest or that you think may help, please give me a call. Anytime."

Nodding and unable to say anything, I took the card. His hand was still resting on my knee. Glancing down pointedly, he swiftly pulled it back.

"We'll be in contact in the investigation of your father's death and will keep you posted. Thank you for your time, Isabella."

I rose and walked the officers to the door.

Still shellshocked at the potential of my father being murdered, I mutely opened the door.

Officer McMullen walked through the door to the car.

Officer Malone stopped just outside my door and turned back to look at me intently. He brazenly grasped my hands.

Um, excuse me, what the fuck is with the touching?

"Isabella, I understand that this is a shock to you and that you will need some time to process, but please, please call me if you need to talk."

I'm not sure what Officer Malone saw in my face at that moment, or even what he saw in my face throughout the evening that seemed to make him think it was okay to touch me, but it seemed that he liked being the big, gruff officer who comforted the damsels in distress.

Hate to burst your pretty little bubble, but I'm no goddamn damsel.

He can try his white knight routine on some other chick.

All but wrenching my hands from his grasp, I thanked him, probably a bit coldly, and backed away. Grabbing the door and beginning to close it, Officer Malone issued one last request.

"Isabella, this may seem forward, but please consider a chain for your door. While this neighborhood isn't known to be high crime, the surrounding areas are."

Squeezing the door so hard my knuckles turned white, I plastered on the fake smile and closed the door.

Turning around after the officers departed, I leaned back against the door and sank down.

What the actual fuck.

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><p><strong>AN: First and foremost, I am absolutely floored at the response this story has received! Thank you all so much for your comments, follows and favorites. It's great motivation and certainly makes me want to crank all these chapters out as quickly as I can! :)<strong>

**Second, as for this chapter... what do you all think so far?**

**Third, this is _way_ earlier than I planned on posting it, but I was honestly so stoked at the feedback so far that I decided you all deserved an early post! You all probably shouldn't get too used to it... ;)**

**As usual, I'd love to hear your feedback and comments.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It was hours later that I found myself unable to sleep.

After the officers left, my mind was whirring. There were funeral arrangements to make, loose ends that needed to be tied, and it seemed I would be left with the task of cleaning the dump my father called home.

I was dreading that. The day I left, I promised myself I'd never go back. Here I was, five short years later, breaking that promise.

I made lists of things I needed to do, people I needed to call. So much for taking a break before my classes began. Instead, I'd be stuck dealing with the fallout of Charlie's death.

And so it was hours later that I laid in bed, thinking.

I stared at the ceiling, wondering what it said about me that rather than mourning Charlie, I was pissed. Did it make me a bad person that above all I was pissed that once again Charlie was letting me down and leaving me all alone?

The simple truth was that I'd mourned the loss of my father years ago. The day I realized that Charlie was never going to stop drinking, was never going to be the father I needed, and that the only thing he cared about was forgetting the pain of the loss of my mother was the day I mourned him. I mourned the loss of a father I'd never really had, mourned the life I'd lived before my mother's death. I did my crying. I did my begging and pleading with God. There were no tears in me left to mourn my father.

So no, I rationalized, that did not make me a bad person.

…

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

This phrase was sincerely driving me insane. As were the people who'd come to the viewing of my father. The people congregated in the back of the room and talked quietly among themselves, sneaking peeks at the casket, at me.

It was annoying.

I was beginning to think that the viewing and the funeral were more for the friends than the family. All the details, the astronomical cost, dealing with everyone's fake sympathy… I just wanted these people to be gone, wanted to bury Charlie and be done with it.

It wasn't as if these people really even knew Charlie. Hell, none of these people had seen him in decades. The police officers at least attempted to maintain contact with my father once he resigned - for a while, at least. The others from his childhood, what did these people know of him?

And being forced to deal with their superficial sympathies and I'm sorry's was exhausting.

These people weren't here to say goodbye to Charlie; they were here to gossip.

"Excuse me, Miss Swan, do you have a moment?" One of Charlie's former co-workers placed his hand gently on my arm. Nodding, and turning to him, I took him in. He was older, and his appearance was weathered, like he'd seen it all. "I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for everything you've been through. It doesn't seem fair that someone so young has had so much heartache."

Grasping his hand, a gave a half-hearted smile. "Thank you for your sympathy." I truthfully had no idea what to say. How do you reply to that?

"I know that you probably don't remember me, but Charlie and and I were pretty close before I retired. I remember he just adored you. You were young then. Full of energy. You look so much like your mother. I can see her eyes when I look at you."

The brisk exterior I'd put up broke just a little as he gazed at me. It had been so long since I'd heard stories of my mother.

"Thank you," I smiled more sincerely. "I miss her very much."

"As I'm sure you do, my dear. She was such a lovely spirit, so kind and very outgoing. I imagine that she and your father balanced each other out. He kept her feet on the ground while her head was off in the clouds."

I nodded my head as he seemed to be lost in his own memories.

"Silly me, I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Retired Officer Daniel Banner. Your father was just a rookie and your mother just barely pregnant with you when I first met them. If you'd like, I have some old photo books my wife made from when your mother was pregnant with you. You can come take a look at them, take whatever photos you'd like."

"Thank you, Officer Banner. I would greatly appreciate it." I cleared my throat against the strain of holding back tears.

I was touched that this man, who didn't know me from Eve, would offer his time and his treasures so I could remember a bit of my family.

"Good. I won't take any more of your time, now. I'm in the phone book, so you just look me up when you want to come over, okay?"

"Thank you. Seriously, I, um… it would really mean a lot to me."

"Anytime, honey."

…

Throwing open the front door to my apartment, I clunked down my purse on the table, directly on top of my financial documents and banking statements.

I was not looking forward to hashing out my account balance.

Before Charlie's death, I was feeling a little comfortable. I had enough money to get my money to purchase the necessities, a little for school books or anything class related, I had a cushion, albeit teeny, and I had a little bit saved.

When I looked at the cost of Charlie's funeral, I was fortunate that he had some money saved that he apparently never touched, or maybe he forgot about it. Either way, I was extremely grateful that he didn't get his drug-grubbing hands on that money and I was able to put that towards his funeral costs.

Pulling my high heels off, I walked towards my bedroom to change out of the dress I was wearing and into something more comfortable. If I had to go through my finances, I was damn well going to be comfortable doing it.

I reached awkwardly around to try and unzip the dress, the zipper fighting me the whole way down. Peeling the dress off, I tossed it in the hamper, too lazy to bother hanging it up. Taking off my pantyhose, I wondered why it was even necessary to wear them in the summer. I mean, let's be honest, it's fucking hot outside. My legs are already being shown off in a dress, so what's the point in covering them up with pantyhose? They're not protective, they're not for comfort, what are they actually for?

Trying to avoid putting a runner in my hose, I slipped them off and pulled open my dresser drawer full of undies and bras. Shoving my hose in the back, I realized that I was in need of some new undies. The elastic waistbands no longer had any elastic left and the lace was starting to get holes from being washed improperly.

I shook off the thought. If I didn't get my ass in gear and go work out my finances, I wouldn't be able to afford peanut butter let alone new underwear.

I pulled on a pair of yoga pants as I grabbed a camisole to toss on.

Walking over to my table, I put myself to work.

An hour and many curse words later, I realized that even with the surprise cash of Charlie's, I was still going to be cutting it too close. I would need a job if I had any hope of making it through this semester. The unexpected expenditure of Charlie's funeral pretty much depleted the money I'd been saving up.

It looks like I'd be finding myself a job. However much I protested the idea, I knew it was inevitable.

Resigning myself to start searching tomorrow, I gathered myself to stand after organizing my files. Walking towards the fridge to grab a drink, a knock sounded from the front door.

No fucking way. Last time there was a knock on that goddamn door, it fucked everything up.

Not bothering to put on a happy face, I yanked open the door.

"Hello?"

This is a fucking joke. No way I just got ding dong ditched. Poking my head out and looking to the right, I didn't see anyone. I began to take a step out of the threshold to check the left when I tripped over something.

Looking down, I found a sealed box. Looking around again with squinted eyes, I noticed no one. Sighing, I dropped down to pick up the box.

Heavy fucker, huh? With my luck thus far, I'd probably pull a muscle lugging this sucker in. Heaving it in, I set it down on the table I'd just cleaned up not three minutes ago.

Plopping it down, I let a gust of air out and stared at it.

Though rationally I realized it was probably like some casserole from some nubby funeral attendee, or even a photo book from Officer Banner, I was pretty sure no one knew where I lived and just had a weird feeling.

Grabbing a knife from the utensils drawer, I steeled myself to open the mystery package.

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><p><strong>AN: First, ahh I'm terrible and I'm so sorry! Unfortunately RL kicked my ass last week. I rushed to throw this up here so you guys had something, so please just ignore any grammar problems.<strong>

**Second, thank you for all who have followed, favorited and ****reviewed this story. I appreciate it greatly and will do my best to get the next chapter up as soon as I can.**

**As always, I'd love to hear your feedback. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**SINS OF THE FATHER**

**Chapter Five**

I can distinctly remember one summer just before my sixth birthday. While most things have faded with time, this one moment sticks firmly in my mind. It was warm out, early evening, the sun was still in the sky, yet to sink down into the horizon. My mom had a small gathering with some of Charlie's fellow officers and their wives.

There was no special occasion, she just wanted to enjoy the weekend with friends. She was like that.

I remember the sound of laughter, the smell of hot dogs crisping away on the grill, and the crack of what was either a can of beer for the adults, or a can of pop for the kids. Gatherings like that were one of the few times I was allowed to have pop.

But what I remember most about that day was running up to my mom and dad to tell them something that seemed desperately important at the time. Charlie swooped me up in his arms and sat me high on his waist while I prattled on. My mother sidled up close to him, smiling, and he wrapped his free arm around her. I don't know who, but someone captured that exact moment on film, a photo that was engraved in my memory. We were so happy and things were so perfect.

Maybe I remember that moment so clearly because there was photographic evidence of it.

And here I was, staring at that exact picture.

Not a copy, but the exact picture Charlie had sitting on the beat up end table next to his equally beat up and even more disgusting recliner in the living room. That picture was placed securely inside a wooden picture frame that Charlie kept absolutely spotless.

I remember when he was shitfaced, he would hold that picture frame in his hand for hours at a time, just staring at it. Then he'd set it back down and frantically tear apart the apartment looking for glass cleaner. Once the glass cleaner ran out, he'd taken to wiping the glass and the frame with a towel.

And somehow, I here I was, staring at that picture. In a box. On my kitchen table.

Everything snapped to at once and I backed up away from the table, knocking over a chair in my haste. Still staring at the box, I grasped for the junky cell phone I owned. Unable to locate it without actually looking for it, I pulled my eyes away from the box and searched my kitchen counter.

Where the fuck did I leave it?!

Looking back to the box, I remembered I cleared it off of the table while going over my finances. Racing the short to my bedroom, I pushed open the door, thankfully moving quick enough that when it bounced off the wall and back, it didn't hit me. Diving through my purse, I nabbed the old flip phone.

Now to dig around and find that fucking card from Officers Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

Ah ha! Success.

Punching the numbers into my phone, I counted to four before I heard the telltale click that signalled someone picking up.

"Officer Malone," he answered briskly.

"Uhm, hi, Officer Malone, this is Isabella Swan. You were investigating Charlie - my father's - death."

"Oh yes, Isabella. How are you doing?" Gone was the gruff tone and replacing it was a sickly sweet croon.

Gross.

"I'm actually a little bit freaked out. I had a knock on my door and there was a box outside… I just assumed it was from a neighbor or something and opened it and it's not a fucking casserole." My voice was shaking considerably and I was more shaken than I wanted to admit.

"Okay, take a deep breath for me, Isabella and -"

"It's a picture. The missing picture. Or at least I'm assuming it is. It's ripped and… there's more, inside the box. It's heavy."

I swear I could _hear_ Officer Malone snap into detective mode.

"Okay, Isabella? Don't touch anything else, okay? Officer McMullen and I will be there in five minutes, tops, but just take a couple deep breaths for me and start from the beginning again, okay?"

I heard his car sirens turn on and did as he said and took a deep breath.

Starting from the beginning, I began again and waited for the officers' knock.

…

It seemed like deja vu as I closed the door on the officers and slid down the door. Only this time, the left with something in their hands.

The box.

The officers took the large box with them, "for evidence," they said.

After going over what happened for what seemed like hours, they poured over the details, questioned what I'd done earlier in the day.

It was like they were trying to see if I was lying, holding anything back.

I would have been insulted, except for the fact that I did hold something back.

I was still debating if it was the right thing to do.

Regardless, there was no going back now.

Standing up, I pulled the sheet of paper out of the teeny pocket in the back of my yoga pants. The pocket was meant to be used for something like an iPod or MP3 player, I'm sure. Instead, I was using it to withhold evidence.

I held the paper in tight fingers as I walked back to the kitchen. Setting it down on the counter, I opted to read it over again while indulging in some much needed wine.

I grabbed a wine glass and the unopened bottle of Pinot Noir.

I uncorked the bottle, poured myself a generous glass and sank down at the kitchen table with the sheet of paper. I took a few long pulls of wine before bringing myself to look at the paper. I set my glass down and used both hands to gently flatten the folded paper. Taking care to not rip it, I pulled it open.

It was a sheet of computer paper, with just a few clearly typed words. Nothing distinctive, but sure to send a message.

"His debt is yours now.

I'll be seeing you."

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Charlie owed the wrong people and his debt would now be my debt.

Fucking Charlie. Goddamn FUCKING Charlie.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? It's just like Charlie to fuck me over even after he's gone.

Piece of shit.

Chugging the remainder of my wine, I dumped the glass in the sink, too mad to wash it and scooped up the paper.

Storming to my room, I set the paper down on the dresser and pulled my clothes off, cursing the whole time.

"Goddamn motherfucking fucker."

I tossed them into the hamper.

"Cocksucking little shithead."

I stomped naked to my bathroom and cranked the shower as hot as it would go.

"Dick rotting butt fucker."

I let the water and steam drown out my crying.

I didn't think I'd ever catch a break.

…

The driver of the nondescript, dark sedan held the camera up to his eye and snapped photos of the woman. She was different than he'd expected. Beautiful and curvy. A knockout, really. She didn't seem like the usual crackwhores.

The boss would be pleased with the pictures he'd be delivering tonight. Lucky for him, the woman forgot to close her blinds and he had the perfect view of her round, supple ass and she undressed in her room.

He was getting a hard on thinking about pounding into that sweet ass.

Maybe the boss would let him have her once he was done with her.

Bringing the camera down from his face, he placed it on the seat and turned the ignition.

He had a meeting to keep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hi friends! Thanks again for all your reviews, favorites and follows. Every time I see one, I break into a little (read: embarrassing) happy dance.<strong>

**As always, I'd love to hear your feedback and what you're thinking of the story so far. :)**


	6. READ MEEEEE

Hello Friends,

I wanted to let you know what's been going on that I have not been able to post anything. I by no means meant to leave you all hanging. In mid December, I had a family crisis and my time was consumed with that. Then things were finally settling down when I, unfortunately, had a miscarriage. Since then, I've been struggling to really find the desire to write anything.

At this point, I can't promise that updates will be as regular as I was hoping, but I can promise that this story will continue. Please understand that this is a very difficult time for me, but that I will try my best to get the chapters up in a timely manner.

Thank you all so much for your patience and understanding, and I hope I haven't lost any of you guys. Stick with me, I promise I won't leave you hanging.

Once I get the next chapter finished, I will post it in place of this AN, so be sure to check in periodically.

Thanks guys.


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